Cupid Is An Ass
by badveganwolf
Summary: Hawke may be injured, but she still has her feminine wiles. Anders gets flustered. Rated M for future steamy additions.
1. Chapter 1

Hawke stumbled roughly into the Hanged Man, leaning heavily on Fenris. He was covered in blood, but Hawke's armor padding was soaked through with it. Bandits had ambushed the group while they were searching for medicinal herbs and, somehow, an arrow had pierced Hawke's steel breastplate. Varric, Anders, and Fenris brought her back to town so she could at least rest. Her condition worsened as she got closer to Kirkwall, and now, at their favorite bar, she looked like she was about to collapse.

"It's barely even in there, just get me a drink. It'll heal up by morning." Hawke's words were slurring. Varric had removed her heavy plate armor, but she still felt heavy. The world was starting to get blurry.

She turned to Anders.

"Why didn't you bring me to your clinic?" She threw him a flirty smile before tripping gracefully over a chair. Fenris caught the maiden just in time, but looked too pleased with himself. Anders fumed, too busy carrying Hawke's armor to have saved the day. Varric helped her up, and he and Fenris guided her to his room in the back. They got a few odd stares from the bar patrons, but blood and battles weren't uncommon at the Hanged Man.

Anders scoffed at his favorite warrior. "You insisted that you be brought here, remember?" _Shit._ Why hadn't he realized her wound was so severe? His magic should have sensed that the arrow was in deep, or that she had lost too much blood, unless -

_**You were distracted by the view of her torso without battle armor.**_

_Andraste's tits._ Now here she was, wonderful bosom and all, bleeding out in Varric's suite. She grunted in pain as Fenris and Varric helped her onto the table, and carefully pushed her onto her side so that they could remove her padding.

"Hey, whaddya doin?" Hawke tried to roll back over, but gasped and stopped moving, her face twisted up in pain. Varric patted her side caringly, earning him another pained grunt.

"Blondie here's going to stitch you right up, Hawke. We just have to get your shirt off first." He pulled the padding away from her chest, revealing an undershirt saturated with blood.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Sure, Hawke. But let's just let Blondie work some magic." Varric winked at her, his smile wide. He turned to Fenris, "Let's leave him to his work, Broody. There's nothing more we can do now."

"Riight." Guarded as ever, Fenris narrowed his eyes at the possessed apostate. "I don't think we should trust this _mage_ to heal her."

Anders smiled back, hiding his hatred behind his teeth. "You don't much have a choice, do you?"

Fenris paused and looked at Hawke, his expression soft. The affection on his face made Anders stiffen; why did he care about the woman he despised? Despite how much they argued, Anders could see the way Fenris looked at her and it made him burn. He found comfort in Hawke's disapproval of the warrior, but images of her in Fenris' bed still featured in his nightmares.

_**You shouldn't concern yourself with the freed slave. Clearly, she detests him. And why should it matter? She is not ours.**_

The lyrium warrior looked back at Anders, his face cold again. With a small sound of disgust, he followed Varric through the door, slamming it roughly behind him.

Anders sighed. He tried to concentrate on Hawke's unsteady breathing. With help from Justice, he pushed Fenris out of his mind. Hawke needed his help and he had to focus to heal her. He couldn't afford to be caught up in pointless, vapid jealousy.

"So, are you going to take off my shirt?" Hawke let her head fall towards the apostate. Usually, her teasing would be accompanied by a subtle blush and a wide, mischievous grin, but her expression now looked vacant and glassy.

That didn't stop Ander's heart from thumping on loudly, or his face to flush... or his pants to get a little tighter.

_**She's about to faint from blood loss and you're -**_

_I know._

"Yes, I'm going to take off your shirt. I need to heal your wound." He stepped over to the table and, leaning over her, began to peel off her shirt. It would have been erotic, but the smell of blood and her pale complexion had him focused and worried about her welfare. Hawke had failed to reply with a flirty quip; she was definitely not feeling well. Now that he was concentrating, he could feel that she was on the verge of passing out.

That was probably for the best. The arrow had hit her in the side of her right ribs, and though Varric had broken it to take off her armor, the tip was still inside. He examined the wound more closely, using magic to sense its severity. Yes, there were a few shards and splinters inside. He would have to use magic to remove them. He used a cooling spell to numb the area as best he could, and then began to remove the shards.

Hawke was either too far gone to notice the splinters moving around inside her, or had a very high pain tolerance. Knowing her, Anders felt it was the latter. She was his strong girl. The mage fell into a rhythm of numbing the area, removing shards, healing her wounds, and sending her his energy to help her stay conscious. He didn't want to cause any more damage, so the going was slow.

He tried - valiantly - to ignore how her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, or how the peaks of her nipples were visible through her chest bindings.

Stop leering. You frequently deal with attractive patients - why is this one different?

Well, she's selfless, bold as the Fade, witty, empathetic, fights like 20 well-trained soldiers, has lips like pink roses...

He stopped himself. He couldn't continue listing her virtues. He was in love with her enough already, without thinking about her perfection while in such close, romantic quarters. Andraste, she was practically naked already and damn it is hot in here and Maker, focus.

She would be his undoing. All his professional reserve, his years and years of experience as a healer, gone as soon as they're alone together.

**_She is a distraction._**

_No kidding._

"Anders."

"Yes, Hawke?" He tore his gaze away from her wound, and found himself just mere inches away from a very flushed, very _aware_ warrior maiden.


	2. Chapter 2

"You should take a break, you're looking a bit... flustered. Maybe take off your coat?" She reached over and put her hand on his forehead. "You feel a little hot," she pouted.

He _was_ feeling hot.

"Let me help you." Her hands fell to the fastens of his feathered coat, fingers slowly working them apart. She was leaning over him now, offering a very pleasing view of her muscled torso. Her hair smelled like rose and jasmine soap. She finished with the last clinch and, carefully, pushed his cloak off his shoulders, hands softly brushing his chest.

Anders swallowed. It was really hot in there. She was so close, and - _Andraste_ - so nearly naked. After only knowing her in her battle armor for years, all her curves and skin were unbearable.

The world was roaring around him and he felt consumed by a need to hold her and show her how well he could please her, to ease his ache and loneliness, by the Maker, to have her _feel_ exactly how much he cared about her - how if she asked him to he would do anything for her.

_**Even break her?**_

"Hawke -" Anders choked out her name.

All it took was one word. Hawke's wide smirk faded, and she laid back resigned.

Anders took in a shaky breath.

"There's still a few pieces, then I can close the wound." The apostate had spent hours writing about the injustices of mage oppression, but he could not find any words to comfort Hawke. The heat between slowly dissipated; a slow simmer instead of boiling over. Their unspoken thoughts still weighed down the air.

"Take your time." Hawke sighed. If that didn't break him, she didn't know what would. He had seemed so close, but it hadn't been enough. She wasn't going to force him, but maybe just a bit more teasing...

Hawke fell asleep to the soothing rhythm of Anders numbing her side.

**sorry this chapter was so short! i'll be updating regularly, though, so don't worry. more to come! ;D**


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke woke up the next morning, feeling more energetic than she had in weeks. The air smelled clear, like after a storm. Despite the hard stone beneath her, she felt warm and comfortable.

Her right side, in particular-

"Mhmm, Hawke..." Anders was nuzzling her ribs, his stubble scratching her bare skin. His arm was wrapped around her waist, hand stroking her side. He hadn't crawled up to sleep with her; he was still sitting on the stool by the table, but he had scootched as close to her as he could.

He started adding small kisses to his nuzzles, his hand firmer on her side. Hawke knew he was still half asleep, but she couldn't help the way her heart started to beat faster, her skin warming at his touch.

Healing her must have exhausted him. Judging by how energized she felt, Hawke decided he must have given her all the juice he had left. He hadn't even tried to move away from the table before he collapsed.

As much as she enjoyed this, she couldn't let him continue. He had made it clear last night, as he had before, that he had his reasons for not being with her.

With a sigh, Hawke started to pull away from the sleepy apostate. Her left leg wasn't off the table before he let out a low groan, his hold tightening in response to her movements.

Hawke smiled. What a cutie! She reached down and cupped the side of his face, thumbs making gentle circles on his stubble. His shoulders relaxed and his hold loosened, his breath slow.

The warrior slipped away slowly, and found one of Varric's shirts to wear over her leggings. The dwarf must have found another place to sleep for the night - perhaps with a certain pirate maiden? Hawked chuckled to herself.

Anders stirred at the sound. He woke with an aching back and - quite frankly - a raging hard on. His mind was drunk on thoughts of Hawke, of her soft skin and defined muscles and full curves, of her sexy taunts and admiring looks.

The cold stone of Varric's table was unforgiving in comparison. Sitting up, Anders had difficulty resisting the urge to take himself into his hand and relieve some of his ache. Justice's calm presence helped him slow his pounding heart, and reminded him that his entire body felt like he had taken a beating.

Giving Hawke so much energy, and then falling asleep on a chair had lead to a fitful, unsatisfying sleep. The renegade mage stretched his arms up, and cracked his neck, groaning loudly. His eyes still closed, he reached back to start rubbing the knots behind his shoulder blades.

He was so tense lately. He always felt wound-up; always ready for a knock on the door and shining armor with gold signias to drag him away, forcing him to sell wares in monotone for the rest of his life.

Justice stirred and grumbled at the thought of the templars. Anders tried to continue massaging his back, but Justice's growing need to act was pulling at him. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to help replenish blood, or help by spilling it, but soon he wouldn't be able to remain inactive. In a few seconds, he would have to get up, either to return to his clinic, or to search out ways to impede templar efforts. Maybe he could find Hawke and check up on her injury - though he was sure it was fine.

Suddenly, his strokes on his back were replaced by a pair of soft, strong hands. They traveled up to the sides of his neck, and gently squeezed the muscles there. They rubbed at the base of his skull, massaging knots and warming his tense skin. And when she started stroking behind his ears and his temples, he couldn't help but lean back and let his head fall into her hands. Any inclination he had to leave vanished.

This was not doing anything to help ease his desire for her, however. As relaxed as he felt, his heart didn't feel calm at all. She started rubbing his earlobes and behind his ears, and he felt a deep heat rise up through him. It felt like a warming spell, but spicier. He was glad that she had brushed off his coat the night before; thinking about the way she had looked at him just made him harder.

Hawke was going too far. She had meant to help him with his shoulders, but his neck looked sore too, and rubbing his temples would help him... and now, she was giving him a sensual scalp massage. What's worse - he was leaning into her hands, letting out low groans when she pulled at his earlobes.

She was surprised she wasn't trembling. His hair felt wonderful - so silky and soft - and his small moans of approval sent sparks straight to her core, igniting a small fire that burned in her low belly. Afraid she wouldn't be able to keep from adding small kisses, she moved her ministrations down to his upper biceps.

A mistake - he only moaned louder. All that staff-twirling left his arms as tense as his back. The warrior tried to resist lingering, but the large feel of his arms was intoxicating. Hawke was the one that used huge, flaming battle axe, but Anders was still bulkier. She wanted him to hold her tight against him, so she could feel those arms around her and know that they were together, and that he was safe.

Her nightmares were filled with empty clinics, and quippy mages turned monotone. She knew he feared that the templars would hurt her if she got involved with him, but she could only think of what they would do to her rebel mage. Being a Grey Warden meant nothing to the Chantry in Kirkwall; his calling would not save him if they took him away.

Her mage was a powerful healer, yes, and very useful to have with her on quests. But she had an ulterior motive for bringing him along whenever she could: she could not face returning to find an empty clinic in Darktown.

Anders felt her hands tense up around his shoulders; she was trembling. Carefully, slowly, he stood up, turned around, and took her hands into his. Her jaw was clenched, her gaze was locked on the floor between them. Anders took a small step toward her and lifted her hands so that they rested on his chest. Gently, he lifted one of hands and tilted her face up.

There was a violent edge to her glare, but her eyes were wet. A hint of fear colored her cheeks. He had known her for a year and a half, but had never seen her afraid.

Anders' cupped the side of her face, his other hand giving hers a comforting squeeze. His fears shouldn't have to be hers.

In a moment of weakness - or perhaps strength - he slid one arm around her waist and pulled her closer, so that she was pressed against him. Her shirt and leggings did little to hide her figure, and he delighted in feeling the lines of her body flush against his.

Hawke felt like that small tug had knocked the wind out of her. His embrace felt impossibly good; her fears were quickly pushed aside by a burning need to have him hold her tighter, to have him touch her skin. The hand cupping her face slid into her hair, lightly tugging her head to tilt back, so that her face was only a few inches from his.

She felt his breath on her face; he was almost panting. His hand tight on her waist reminded her that she, too, had a pounding heart and a flushed face. She moved her hands from his chest to the back of his neck, encouraging him to lean down and let her feel his lips on hers, his stubble on her cheek.

Anders ripped his gaze from her lips and looked into her eyes, finding her fear replaced by determination. She noticed him looking, and her lips started to form a knowing grin.

He wasn't having that. No more teasing; he would kiss those lips until they were panting his name, no - until they were screaming i-

Someone started pounding on the door.

"Hawke, open up! I need your help on patrol." Aveline's words had Anders jumping back, suddenly fumbling for his things.

**_If the templars find where her allegiances lie, they will hunt her down. She must be a supporter of mage freedom; but not a rebel._**

As Anders pushed through the door and through Aveline, he felt the truth in Justice's advice: he needed her alive. If an alliance with him meant endangering her, he could not go through with it. The sun outside blinded him for a moment, before he got his bearings, and headed towards his clinic.

Hawke stood in place, feeling unable to move.

Aveline walked into the room, placing a hand on Hawke's shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something, but then noticed something lying on the ground. Reaching down, she held up Ander's coat towards the fearless warrior.

Her eyebrow cocked, she asked, "Hawke?"

**Sorry for the late update, and for any clunkyness (I couldn't find someone to read over my draft). Hopefully the length makes up for it!**

**Reviews appreciated 33**


	4. Chapter 4

Hawke sat on her bed in the Hightown estate, fingering the fluffy feathers of Ander's pauldrons thoughtfully. She could smell was Ander's musk and the metallic zing of dried blood. His scent was warm and soothing and Hawke found herself snuggling up to the piece of clothing. The feathers tickled her face and her lips, as teasing and pleasing as the man that wore them. Just his smell and the feel of the feathers was enough to get her hot.

The warrior sighed. This might be as close as she was going to get, the way her efforts were going. He kept on retreating every time she got close. If she thought he didn't want her, she would have backed off, but it was clear that they shared an overwhelming mutual attraction. It was only his purpose that kept them apart.

Hawke breathed in another whiff of Ander's scent. It seemed to tingle with magic. She would have to return the feathered piece sometime soon; he had to be missing his signature fashion piece. Plus, they had a meeting with the Night Commander tonight and he would want to be fluffy and intimidating.

She began to strap on her armor, preparing for an awkward meeting with her favorite apostate.

* * *

Ander's chest was cold. The draft from the open door of his clinic kept brushing against his collar bones. He felt like his shoulders were drifting up towards his ears without the comforting weight of his pauldrons. Oddly, he felt more like a hunched-over crow without the feathers than he ever did with.

It made him long for a pair of soft hands to knead out the knots in his shoulders again, to brush his chest and warm him up a little. Another silky draft of cold air stole in from the door, causing Anders to shiver, goosebumps forming across his torso. The chill air made his nipples uncomfortably hard.

An image of his favorite warrior closing her rosy mouth around one of his nipples came to his mind, unbidden. He imagined her looking up at him, knowing and teasing, and flicking her tongue across the nip, sending jolts of pleasure and warmth right to his cock. He would push his length against her stomach, and this time she would be the one choking out his name.

Anders was suddenly very glad that the clinic was empty and chilled; he kept getting himself hot and bothered tonight.

Perhaps if you had shown more restraint this morning, you would not be plagued with these thoughts.

The purposeful clanking of armor invaded his fantasies, reminding him that he was a wanted apostate and a wayward Grey Warden. There would always be people chasing after him. He quickly doused the one lamp, and prepared to ambush whatever threat came into this place of healing. The sun had set an hour ago; night had settled in and the shadows in Darktown hid his form. Vengeance simmered on the edge of his vision.

A metallic figure passed through the door, and Anders pounced.

* * *

**This first part of this chapter has been sitting around my computer for awhile now. What with finals, moving out of the dorms to a new apartment, and everything going down in Boston right now, I might not be able to update for another month or so. So I've given you what I have! Thank you for liking my story 3**


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